et and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee."

"Jacob," said the Dominie, "I have heard by the mouth of Rumour, with
her hundred tongues, how careless and indifferent are sailors unto
danger; but I never could have believed that such lightness of heart
could have been shown. Yon man, although certainly not old in years,
yet, what is he?--a remnant of a man resting upon unnatural and
ill-proportioned support. Yon lad, who is yet but a child, appears as
blythe and merry as if he were in possession of all the world can
afford. I have an affection for that bold child, and would fain teach
him the rudiments, at least, of the Latin tongue."

"I doubt if Tom would ever learn them, sir. He hath a will of his own."

"It grieveth me to hear thee say so, for he lacketh not talent, but
instruction; and the Dux, he pleaseth me mightily--a second Palinurus.
Yet how that a man could venture to embark upon an element, to struggle
through the horrors of which must occasionally demand the utmost
exertion of every limb, with the want of the two most necessary for his
safety, is to me quite incomprehensible."

"He can keep his legs, sir."

"Nay, Jacob; how can he _keep_ what are _already gone_? Even thou
speakest strangely upon the water. I see the dangers that surround us,
Jacob, yet I am calm: I feel that I have not lived a wicked
life--`_Integer vitae, scelerisque purus_,' as Horace truly saith, may
venture, even as I have done, upon the broad expanse of water. What is
it that the boy is providing for us? It hath an inviting smell."

"Lobscouse, master," replied old Tom, "and not bad lining either."

"I recollect no such word--_unde derivatur_, friend?"

"What's that, master?" inquired old Tom.

"It's Latin for lobscouse, depend upon it, father," cried Tom, who was
stirring up the savoury mess with a large wooden spoon. "He be a
_deadly_ lively old gentleman, with his dead language. Dinner's all
ready. Are we to let go the anchor, or pipe to dinner first?"

"We may as well anchor, boys. We have not a quarter of an hour's more
ebb, and the wind is heading us."

Tom and I went forward, brailed up the mainsail, cleared away, and let
go the anchor. The lighter swung round rapidly to the stream. The
Domini